


One In The Hand

by chiaroscure



Category: What We Do in the Shadows (TV)
Genre: Character Study, Friendship, Gen, Light Angst, New Friends, a bit of rat-eating but it doesn't last long, sewer friends
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-23
Updated: 2020-11-23
Packaged: 2021-03-10 06:07:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,570
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27678539
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chiaroscure/pseuds/chiaroscure
Summary: “Hello!” Simon calls. The thing shows no sign of reluctance or aggression at being approached, so he continues to saunter over, trying not to seem overeager. “Pleasure to meet you!”The zombie snarls affably.*Simon the Devious makes a friend.
Relationships: Simon the Devious & Carol, Simon the Devious & Topher, Simon the Devious & zombie!Topher
Comments: 9
Kudos: 14





	One In The Hand

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to [@uv_duv](https://archiveofourown.org/users/uv_duv) for lending me a hand beta reading this~

The sewers have been quiet lately, ever since the incident.

 _Incidents_ , really. Simon managed to drag himself back to Carol’s abandoned den after being mercilessly abandoned by his ex-crew to recover from half-melting into that grating. That took more time than vampiric recovery typically takes, which was a nuisance

(Well, he found it to be a bit more than a nuisance at the time, but now that he is back on his feet again thanks to rest and creative feeding strategies, he has been coming around. Losing everything and everyone over the course of a year wasn’t _that_ bad; he’s…he’s fine, really.)

Everything would have been easier with Carol’s help, but he can hardly blame her for keeping away. He has imposed on her a great deal since meeting her. Now that he is well, though, he misses her presence more than any more practical help she might have offered (and _her_ presence more than anyone else’s…again, though, he’s fine, really). She disappeared without warning or hints of where she was going, but while he was lying around healing, it occurred to him that she might be camping out in the sewers elsewhere. So, as soon as he could, he took to wandering the subterranean passages looking for her.

But the sewers are quiet, and so far Simon has only encountered a number of rats, spiders, and cockroaches, and one disgruntled alligator. The loneliness is disheartening, but he keeps at it. There is a lot of ground yet to cover before he will even consider giving it up as a lost cause.

Tonight (today? time blurs together underground…), he has chosen to strike out in a new direction. Carol showed him a good many passages in their months together, but she preferred some to others. So far, Simon has been scouring her favorites, but she might well have taken up residence somewhere she would not have taken him before, whether on purpose or by coincidence. If she is avoiding him, he does not want to bother her, but he would just like to know that she is okay — she left Nadja and Laszlo’s house so suddenly that he is a bit worried for her.

His footfalls echo against the hard walls, punctuated only by the sound of drips falling into the leftover puddles of rain runoff on the sewer floor. Everything looks the same down here; one has to learn the distance between intersections and manholes to have any sense of direction. Echolocation helps when all else fails, but Simon has gotten pretty good at navigating without having to rely on that.

A pair of rats scamper off down a passage to the right just ahead. He watches them wistfully as the scuffling of their paws recedes — until he hears something much larger moving, followed by a startled squeak and a squelching crunch.

That is unusual, so Simon decides to investigate. He levels with the turn off and peers around the corner, unsure of what to expect but optimistic that it will be interesting at the very least.

He is not disappointed: he finds a humanoid figure about thirty feet away, huddled against one of the walls, chewing loudly. The unlucky rat’s tail slurps up into the creature’s mouth as Simon watches, intrigued. When the chewing stops, he clears his throat, prompting the thing to turn its head to look at him.

“Hello!” he calls. The thing shows no sign of reluctance or aggression at being approached, so he continues to saunter over, trying not to seem overeager. “Pleasure to meet you!”

The creature snarls in a tone that should be baleful but is more affable than anything. _Zombie_ , Simon identifies upon hearing its voice, confirming the suspicion once he gets a look at the odd dark eyes, pale stretched skin, and necrotic fingertips. The smear of blood across the light reddish beard completes the picture.

The zombie groans wetly, a string of bloody saliva dribbling from its lip. It wipes its mouth on its sleeve and stares up at him, wide-eyed and attentive. There is something curiously familiar about its face, or maybe its clothes…but rather than staring rudely trying to figure out why he would know this creature, Simon opts to ask.

“Have we met before?” He leans over to get a closer look at the zombie, being careful to keep all of his appendages a safe distance away from the blackened, slackened mouth. “Would you — well, _can_ you remind me what your name is?”

“Topher,” the zombie snarls pleasantly.

Simon rummages through an unsorted mental rolodex of names for a moment while ‘Topher’ waits patiently. There is _definitely_ something about the eyes, or maybe the hair…?

*

  1. _Fire and neon glare through the darkness. The bassline pounds like a monstrous pulse through the cold, electric air. Skin, lace, and leather undulate to the beat, a sea of the beautiful dead brought to life by the music._



_All because of him._

_All his._

_He walks through the club like a king through his court. Everyone knows him, and he knows them. There is not a vampire in New York City whose name Simon doesn’t know, as far as he’s aware, and that’s just how he likes it. For a price, he is the heart of the city for those residents of it who can no longer use their own. There’s power to that — so much power, in fact, that he rarely even needs to use it. Who would dare to make a move against him? Who even would want to?_

_He circulates as usual tonight, preening, surrounded by friends and admirers. A vampire who recently moved to Queens from Northern Dakota is introduced to him — a drab little creature for the moment, but he can see the potential there. He likes to know who everyone is, even if they aren’t worth knowing more than that._

_The night goes on and he spots another unknown. That happens sometimes — a banshee or necromancer will come for the atmosphere, or a mortal will wander in for a bit of excitement. He doesn’t bother with these as much as the vampires, but it never hurts to know who’s who anyway._

_“I don’t believe we’ve met,” he says, sauntering up behind whoever this is._

_The person, short, robust, and delightfully strawberry blond, turns to respond._

*

“Oh, yes, _Topher!_ ” Simon exclaims, gesturing emphatically. The zombie watches his hand fly closer to his face with interest. “Yes, I remember you now! Terribly rude of me to have forgotten. I am sorry about that, my man. It has been a difficult few months; I hope you can understand?”

The zombie gazes up at him, apparently unoffended. He looks surprisingly perky for someone whose neck seems to have been snapped a time or two. Good temperament for a zombie, really; Simon has always thought of them as being irritable or dreary or both. Perhaps that is unfair though; he certainly has been wrong about a great many things recently.

Opting not to go down that mental road again in front of an old acquaintance, though, Simon arranges his own face into a devil-may-care smile and gestures to the ground in the passageway opposite Topher with aplomb.

“Do you mind if I join you for a while?” he asks, drawing on his easily-tapped charisma for the first time in, well, a while. Topher lurches invitingly and makes a cheerful _nnraaangnraah_ sound.

Simon laughs. “Yes, you’re right, who _couldn’t_ do with some company down here? I don’t think I introduced myself when we met before — I’m Simon the Devious.”

He slides down the sewer wall opposite Topher, lowering himself until he’s sitting cross-legged on the damp concrete.

“You know,” Simon continues, “speaking of company, I wonder if you could help me with that? You see, a few months ago — it seems like ages now, but it really was only a few months — I met someone by chance down here in these very sewers, much like how I have just met you. She and I have since become good friends, but I have lost her. I wonder if you might have seen her recently? Her name is Carol. She’s very distinctive: wonderful, huge white eyes; sleek quills; excellent taste in leg-of-mutton sleeves?”

The zombie stares at him, slack-jawed, with perhaps a bit of concentration evident between his pale brows.

“Topher,” he groans regretfully after a moment.

Simon covers the pang of disappointment with a shrug. “Ah well, it didn’t seem very likely that you would have met her yet. Otherwise, why would you be sitting alone down here! She’s a very cordial vampire. Very hospitable.”

“Mrraaaagh,” the zombie says.

“Yes, I hope you do too,” Simon smiles. He _does_ hope the zombie gets to meet Carol eventually, if he can ever find her. But he doesn’t want to overthink that now — or to give any thought the gnawing concerns about her he prefers to shove into the depths of his subconscious. He kicks out a leg in front of himself casually.

“We didn’t used to get very many zombies back at the Sassy Cat,” he pivots. “I am embarrassed to admit it, but I didn’t think zombies had the right _vibe_ for the club, so I never tried to cater to the market. That’s prejudice for you — I hope you can forgive me, if I was ever rude to you.”

“Topher,” the zombie croons with a jerky shake of the head.

“Oh, but of course! You weren’t a zombie back then, were you? No, you were a…a babadook’s driver, I think, weren’t you? Human. Mortal.”

*

_The person nods and flashes Simon an easy lop-sided smile._

_“Hey man, how’s it going? Dope place, right?”_

_Simon laughs low in his throat. A normal human man who does not recognize him as the Sassy Cat’s owner? He doesn’t have the attitude of a familiar either, which means that this is going to be fun._

_“Yes, it is a pretty dope place,” Simon agrees, the bass humming through his ribcage not quite hard enough to drown out the sound of the steady pulse of the mortal in front of him. “How did you find out about it?”_

_“Oh, I’m just here with the dude I drive for,” the mortal gestures vaguely at a group of mixed vampires and others. “I’m Topher, by the way.”_

_“Which dude?” Simon inquires, not bothering to introduce himself. One of the members of the group is an up-and-comer from the old country who Simon doesn’t know very well yet, and he would be curious to become more acquainted._

_“Guy with the hat. The babadook,” living human man Topher explains. Simon grins at the oblivious group. “Babuber driver is a pretty good gig, but most of his friends I drive around are boring. You’re a vampire or something, right? You know what I mean. I’m thinking of changing it up soon, but it’s fine for now.”_

_Hard to blame him for that; babadooks are not known for keeping the best company. Still, Simon has never known any mortal affiliated with one to be so laid-back._

_It’s sort of endearing._

*

Simon rubs his chin thoughtfully. “What happened? Or is that rude to ask.”

“Topher,” the zombie gurgles, shrugging, then convulses while making meaningful eye contact. “Topher.”

Simon grimaces. “Electrocuted? That sounds unpleasant. I’m sorry to hear it. And then a bad necromancy job, I take it. I bet it was that grifter, Wallace.”

Topher groans and slams his one remaining hand down on his thigh emphatically. Simon rolls his eyes with sympathy.

“I’m sure! Try not to hold it against necromancers in general; they have a knack for digging up the best underground oddities, but Wallace is…well, let’s just say he can’t quite keep his relevance alive or bring himself to let it die. I have a friend — Nadja, maybe you’ve met her? Probably not, but —” Topher grunts, “— oh, you have? Splendid, I didn’t think she got out enough to meet anybody born in the last century — but in any case, she just _adores_ Wallace. Couldn’t tell you why; I don’t see it, but, well, there’s probably something there that I missed before.”

Topher makes a sarcastic-sounding strangled noise, in response to which Simon gives a thoughtful half-laugh.

“Is that what happened to your neck?” Simon asks. “Mishap with Wallace?”

Topher shakes his head, his displaced vertebrae grating audibly against each other in the echoing sewer. Opening his blackened mouth, the zombie gives a gurgling hiss that rips against the stone-and-concrete walls eerily. Simon’s attention sharpens from the wash of nostalgia that he has sunken into since encountering his new friend. Why would Topher have been there? There’s no good reason that he should have been, but if he knows Nadja…and that is where Simon last saw Carol…there is _definitely_ something strange going on in that house…

“Sorry, I think I must have misheard you,” he says after a moment. The zombie looks too cheerful to have meant anything sinister by his hiss; perhaps Simon is looking for patterns where there are none to try to make sense of his present situation.

Just the same though, if the zombie meant what Simon thinks he meant, maybe he should go poke around there again, just to see….

*

_Despite the mortal’s charming attitude, though, Simon is distracted by the group, a few members of which have noticed him standing nearby. He had the thought before he goes to offer this Topher a job at the Sassy Cat; good humans are hard to find but massively useful to have around. The thought is fleeting though; mediocre humans will do, and he has other undead people to talk to._

_He says a quick, “excuse me,” to the chauffeur and brushes past him, leaving him to whatever fate befalls humans with rosy cheeks left alone in his club._

*

Simon pushes the thought away, brightening.

“You should come back with me to where I’ve been staying! Unless you have a —" he searches his mind for preferred zombie vocabulary he knows he’s never learned “— a _nest_ or something of your own anywhere?”

Topher shrugs with a clumsy gesture at where he is currently sitting. Simon tsks, getting to his feet.

“Come, come, then! It isn’t much, but my chamber has furniture, at least. No reason to be alone down here; we ought to stick together!” Standing, Simon holds his hand confidently out to help Topher up. He resists the urge to flinch as the zombie eyes his proffered limb, which is perilously close to his teeth, but then grimy fingers take hold of his and he pulls him up.

Topher ends up on his feet — a success, although it does come at the small cost of his arm dislocating at the shoulder and ripping free in Simon’s grasp. Simon frowns at Topher, then at the disembodied arm, then back at Topher.

“Oops,” he says.

“Topher,” the now-armless zombie says.

There is a pause. Simon turns the arm around to inspect the raw detached edge.

“Ah, this isn’t too bad. I can patch this. If I can’t, I know several necromancers — not Wallace — who can.” He claps Topher on the back with the zombie’s hand bracingly, ushering him down the passageway toward the cavern that has become his home. “Now, shall we? I insist that you tell me more about how you came to be down here. It must be quite a story.”

**Author's Note:**

> I cannot claim credit for the objectively hilarious term "Babuber driver" — that's all Duv
> 
> Follow me on tumblr [@sinaesthete](https://sinaesthete.tumblr.com)!


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